An Unexpected Alliance
by SemiCharmedGirl
Summary: This is a first fic with possible future slash themes (thus the rating). I'm not too good with summaries, so just read and find out!


A/N: To start, this is my first fic, so please read and review. IM at IrishMarigold for quick comments. I'll try to be good about keeping the chapters coming! No Flames, please!  
  
Disclaimer: All recognizable chars/situations aren't mine, they're JK Rowling's. I wonder how she'd feel about all this..  
  
Harry yawned, leaning back into one of the enormous easy chairs that filled Gryffindor tower's common room. Tired from another day of his fifth year at Hogwarts, not to mention Quidditch practice, all Harry wanted to do now was watch the fire and sink into oblivion. Preferably one without Voldemort's face so nastily appearing.  
  
Despite the Dark Lord's second and final defeat earlier that year, Harry was still haunted by the battles that had claimed fellow Hogwarts students Colin Creevy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. However, Harry felt no remorse for the loss of the latter two, who had died fighting for Voldemort. Amazingly enough, Harry's famous rival Draco Malfoy had fought not alongside Voldemort and Draco's own father, but with Dumbledore and the greater part of the wizarding world. However, with Voldemort's defeat and the start of a new school term, Malfoy's old animosity toward Harry and his friends had returned without pause (a bit of a surprise to Harry, who had fought battles alongside Draco).  
  
Slytherin house, home to numerous children of Death Eaters, some of them Death Eaters themselves, was filled anew with the shrewd, intelligent, and ambitious students that it was famous for, despite the removal and/or graduation of many older pupils. It was no surprise that the house was now mostly first years, with only a handful of older scholars.  
  
Harry blinked. So much for a peaceful hour. He glanced at his watch, frowning at the numbers that indicated half-past eight. Better to get going now, before Snape could pin another punishment on him for being tardy. Having caught Draco and Harry scuffling in the dungeons after a particularly awful Potions lesson, the professor had given them both a detention.  
  
Pushing open the portrait hole, Harry bid a weary goodnight to the few Gryffindors hanging around the room, most working half-heartedly on an essay or other homework. Harry dashed through the corridors, arriving at the Potions classroom just in time. Seeing only Snape in the class, Harry steeled himself and walked in. The professor looked up from his work, a slight sneer curling his lip.  
  
"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Just-" Snape consulted his watch. "Just in time for your detention. You will find Mr. Malfoy in the storage room already." He gestured to a door at the left of his desk. " You two are to organize, clean, and otherwise neaten the potion supplies there by hand. I want no wand waving whatsoever, and I will know if there is. Understand?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely and brushed by Snape's desk into the crammed, dusty storage room. Malfoy sat in one of the few clear spaces in the room- the wide windowsill. He appeared not to have noticed Harry's arrival and was staring out the high window toward the full moon, which provided the only light in the room. Harry observed him for a moment, taking in the slightly unkempt robes and lengthening slivery-blond hair. He decided this was a better look for Malfoy than the prim and proper appearance he had kept up for four years. Pushing this thought to the back of his head- since when had he given consideration to how Malfoy looked? - Harry waded through the mess of baskets and debris on the floor toward the window.  
  
"Are you going to get down here and help me or spend the whole night staring out the window?" he snapped, a hand on his hip.  
  
Draco turned toward him, grinning maliciously. He dropped nimbly from the sill, narrowly evading landing in a basketful of empty bottles.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of leaving you to dirty your precious hands on your own, my dear. Heroes of war have to keep up their image, of course." Shaking his head slightly, Draco began straightening the baskets on the floor into neat rows. Harry scowled, joining in the task.  
  
"You know, Draco, for a long time that ego of yours was as big as you think mine is. Just because you've been taken down a couple of notches since they proved your father was a traitor doesn't mean that I need to take this from you." Harry moved away from Draco, beginning work on clearing the shelves.  
  
Draco took the moment to turn his back on Harry, feeling slight regret at having been harsh. He wondered why it suddenly mattered to him how he treated Harry. Perhaps it was the fact that they had worked alongside each other in war. Perhaps it was because he had seen Harry white with shock, those green eyes bright as the destruction all around them sank in. Those eyes.. Draco snapped himself back to the present. What was he doing, thinking about Harry's eyes? Those were the kind of thoughts he reserved only for gorgeous females- Harry was certainly not female.. But gorgeous was a bit of another story.. Again, Draco mentally kicked himself. What was going on? What was he doing? Thinking anything even remotely romantic about Harry Potter was against every rational thought in Draco's mind. Thinking romantically about any boy was wrong in itself, but Harry.. What a thought.  
  
Harry turned back, speaking to Draco's back. "Draco.. I've been meaning to ask.. If you still hate my friends and me, then why did you fight with us? I mean, you and me stood side by side during some of those skirmishes, but you still hate me. And you were fighting against your own father.. You haven't changed, though. I don't get it."  
  
Draco, turned, a silvery brow lifted. "What do you mean, changed?" he asked, conveniently overlooking Harry's first question.  
  
Harry shrugged, replacing freshly cleaned bottles on the dusted shelf. "Well, like I said, you still hate me. You're still arrogant, and you still put down the Muggle-borns you fought for. So why'd you fight with us?"  
  
Draco sighed deeply, busying himself with a new basket. "Potter, what do you care? Voldemort's gone, Dumbledore still loves you, and I've done pretty well to stay out of your way. So why do you want to meddle more into my life, or what's left of it?"  
  
Harry was intrigued. Draco- since when had he called him Draco? - spoke with almost a vulnerable, slightly hurt tone. Harry thought for a moment. Draco was right. Since the beginning of the year, Draco had kept much to himself, even going so far as to quit the Slytherin Quidditch team halfway through the season. But only to stay out of Harry's way? That certainly didn't sound like the Draco Harry knew- but then, he didn't know Draco. Not really, at least. Years of animosity had passed between the two of them without them ever truly knowing each other.  
  
Harry realized that Draco was watching him- waiting for an answer? "Um. I dunno. I just wanted to know. But. you don't have to say. I know you've dealt with a lot lately. So. yeah." He broke off stupidly, returning to his work.  
  
"Look, Harry. I know I've been awful to you all these years. I've just been raised to be like that. To be a Malfoy. Father brought me up thinking that heritage was everything. Heritage and power." Draco paused to brush a few silvery hairs from his eyes.  
  
"But then I learned just how far some people would go for my father's kind of power. It felt like I was opening my eyes for the first time. I started realizing that the power he was readying me for wasn't the life I wanted. Father kept prompting me to become a Death Eater, kept telling me how Voldemort would reward me once the battle was over and we had won. It made me sick, the thought of being one of his. cronies, one of his slaves. So I refused. Carefully, of course. I told him that I couldn't join yet, not while I was still at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's nose. Father was satisfied with my answer, for the time being.  
  
"At the end of last year, I knew that my time had run out. He'd be taking me to Voldemort during the summer holiday, I was sure of it. So on the train- yes, after you so nicely hexed me- I ran away. I managed to evade Father at King's Cross and hid out at Diagon Alley until I could contact Dumbledore. He let me stay at Hogwarts over the summer. It was, of course, the last place that Father would think to look for me. So I fought on Dumbledore's side, even if it was against my father. It wasn't as if he was much of a father anyway."  
  
Draco turned away again, somewhat amazed that he had explained this to Harry. No, to Potter. Harry realized that they had worked through the whole conversation, almost finishing their task.  
  
"Draco? Could we. I mean, do you think that maybe we could put some of this behind us?"  
  
Draco glared at him, masking the emotions tugging at him. "Behind us? You think it's that easy? Potter, you really are naïve. So famous, and yet so dense."  
  
Harry glowered back. "I am not dense!" he exclaimed. "And just what is so wrong about not hating each other? You told me yourself that you didn't want to be like your father, but you can't even seem to manage that! And you insult me for being dense!" Furious and hurt at having been rejected, far more than he would have expected of himself, Harry shoved a last jar of sea urchin spines onto the shelf and stormed from the storage room, leaving a regretful and equally upset Draco in his wake.  
  
"Leaving already, Potter? I do hope you haven't shirked your share of the work." Snape's voice clearly indicated that he wished Harry had left something to be desired, if only so he could punish him further.  
  
Harry slowed to face the teacher. "No, we're done. Malfoy's just finishing up." He barely managed to keep his voice even, impatiently waiting for a dismissal.  
  
Snape nodded curtly. "Very well. Do try to remember that fighting of any sort is not allowed in the halls, even for celebrities. "  
  
Harry forced back an angry reply, nodding and slipping from the classroom just as Draco emerged from the storage room looking slightly crestfallen. Harry didn't notice his expression. Still wondering why Malfoy insisted on hating him, not knowing that the truth was quite the opposite, Harry didn't realize that he had reached Gryffindor tower until the Fat Lady cleared her throat.  
  
"Password?" she inquired drowsily.  
  
"Cauldron cake," provided Harry, hastily entering the common room as the portrait swung forward. Suddenly exhausted, he consulted his watch, which read 11:54. Wearily, he climbed the stairs to the dormitories, collapsing onto his bed with a quiet groan. About to shut the hangings on his bed, Ron's face appeared in the gloom. Grinning, he flopped onto the bed next to Harry.  
  
"Well?" he asked, prodding Harry in the arm. Harry looked at him, tiredly stupid.  
  
"Well what?" he inquired. Ron shook his head, poking Harry again.  
  
"You moron. Detention! Detention with the infamous Death-Eater-turned- good-guy-turned-mean-again Draco Malfoy! Did he try to hex you? What'd Snape make you do?" Ron positively squirmed with interest. Harry wondered why, then settled on the idea that Ron was being supportive for Harry by asking. Still, he couldn't manage to come up with a very enthusiastic recount of the night's events.  
  
"Um. Dunno. It was just detention. Snape made us clean up the old storage room without magic." Harry carefully evaded discussing his strange conversation with Malfoy and what he had first thought when he saw him in the window. It seemed, however, that Ron would have none of it.  
  
"What about Malfoy?" He asked again, grinning.  
  
Harry frowned. His watch now read midnight and he was in no mood for question that would make him think in any way. "He was Malfoy. I still don't understand him. Just plain old Malfoy, determined to confuse and annoy us all. Why do you ask?"  
  
Ron sat back. "Just wondering. I wanted to see if there was any way that Malfoy had changed. But obviously not. What a loon. Still, detention doesn't sound too bad, especially for Snape. 'Spect you're tired. It's midnight, you know. Best be off to bed before you can't get up in the morning. It's Hogsmeade tomorrow, remember? We're going with Hermione after breakfast." Ron clambered from the bed, gave a last quick wave, and disappeared behind the hangings of his bed.  
  
Harry slumped back against his pillows, vaguely remembering that he still wore his dusty robes. Groaning quietly, he changed to his pajamas and crawled under the thick blankets of his bed, dreamless sleep finding him immediately. 


End file.
